What Binds Us
by JayMayMo
Summary: The Disir passed judgement on Prince Arthur and Mordred stepped in front of their ruling. Arthur is safe, but the effects of their actions are far from over. The Old Religion is reawakening, but not in the way that Merlin had hoped. It was self-destructing. -Disclaimer: I own nothing. Any familiar characters and dialogue belongs to the BBC.
1. Chapter 1: Judge, Jury, and Executioner

**PROLOGUE – Judge, Jury, and Executioner**

Three hooded figures stood together in the shadowy cave, their eerie forms revealed only by the flickering light cast by water bubbling up from the sacred spring. They had been waiting patiently for weeks, their dark hearts full of an indecent anticipation; one that preceded the end of a life.

Once, many years ago, their lives had been ruled by the Triple Goddess. They existed to be her messengers and do her bidding; their very words were hers to command. The three women had been chosen for this duty when they were mere children and raised solely to serve the goddess. It was an honor, and their once kind and pure hearts had been overjoyed. But over time those bright hearts would darken, just as their world did.

A king, once a friend of magic, had betrayed it and swore to purge his kingdom of all who practiced it. The Three knew that one word from the goddess could rid their world of this man. She could put an end to this monster, this hypocrite who massacred those whom he had once called allies and friends. But the goddess had refrained from passing judgment on the king, saying that his continued existence was necessary if magic was ever to flourish peacefully once more.

It was a decision that the Three would never forgive and, as the Old Religion faded and the goddess grew weaker, they threw off her bonds and became a power unto themselves. Using their influence as the chosen Three, they passed their own judgment where they felt it was due, hidden under the name of their now powerless mistress.

To their disappointment, the king had died before they had completely broken free of their restraints. but, while they were unable to punish him for his crimes, his son, Arthur, remained. However, word had reached them of a prophecy that Arthur would be the one to return peace for all to the kingdom of Camelot. So they watched and waited.

But they had grown impatient. Four long years had passed since Arthur had become king, and nothing had been done to bring about the rebirth of magic. Disregarding the prophecy, they now saw his inaction as absolute proof that he was truly Uther's son, and therefore worthy of their vengeance on the house of the Pendragons. They sent a loyal messenger, Osgar, to give the young king a warning of their ruling and to bring him to them, to be brought to their malicious and corrupted form of justice.

The lure had worked, Arthur had come to inquire about the meaning of the coin, but all did not go to plan. To their displeasure, a knight, the youngest of the group it seemed, had thrown himself in front of the bolt that had been meant for the king as punishment for his crimes against magic. Not only that, but one of the company, the servant, possessed strong magic, and had seemed just as willing to sacrifice himself had the boy not gotten there first.

The Three were furious at being thwarted in their revenge and their cruel hearts filled with a deep hatred not only for Arthur and his savior, but also for the dark haired sorcerer who posed as a servant, who betrayed his own kind and protected a man such as Arthur.

They realized that not all hope of revenge was lost, however. Though their loathing for the Pendragon remained, they recognized a bond between Arthur and his knights, and believed that Arthur would return to ask for their help in saving the boy who had sacrificed himself for the king. The bolt that had been meant for the young Pendragon had been imbibed with a curse that only extremely powerful magic could reverse.

Which is why, they were now waiting. They were waiting for that accursed blonde head to appear at their door to be brought to their twisted form of justice.

"The king has not returned," said the first in frustration as the seventh sunset faded to darkness.

"He would forsake his friend to save his pride," the second added a justification for their verdict, it was a reflex to do so, even now when they had gone so far past such reasoning in handing out sentences.

"It is as expected," said the third shortly.

"He will never change his ways."

"His sentence is sealed."

"He deserves this fate."

All three proclaimed in a sinister harmony that echoed eerily of the walls of the cavern, "Arthur Pendragon will most certainly die."


	2. Chapter 2: It Begins

**Chapter I: It Begins**

As soon as the men laid Sir Mordred on the cot, Gaius began checking over the young man. A white bandage had been wrapped around the boy's torso, and was failing miserably in its duty of stopping the blood that was rapidly leaving Mordred's body. His face was pale and sweaty and he was shivering violently. When Gaius removed the bandages, he could see black veins spreading from the wound.

"What happened?"

Arthur was near the head of the bed, his shoulders slumped in defeat, and his gaze soft as he looked down at the boy that, to Gaius's understanding, had become something like a younger brother to the king and his knights. Not to Merlin, though. Out of the corner of his eye, Gaius could see the lanky figure of his ward standing near the window, watching. Merlin's attitude contrasted glaringly to that of his king. His posture was tense, and his eyes sharp in their survey of the young knight.

"He was wounded protecting me," Arthur began. He looked up at Gaius. "We have every reason to believe that it was enchanted."

Gaius nodded and returned to his task.

"Let me know if he improves or…" Arthur seemed unable to complete the sentence, and with one last glance at the prone figure on the bed, turned and left the room.

Merlin began to pace as soon as the door swung shut behind the king, clearly agitated. His long strides took him swiftly back and forth across the small room. It was a mark of his familiarity with their home that he did not trip over the clutter of benches and piles of books that littered the physician's chambers.

"Only your magic can save him, Merlin." Gaius said sitting down next to the bed. "This wound is of powerful magical making."

It was a moment before Merlin acknowledged his words.

"I cannot save the man that is destined to kill Arthur," the words were forceful but did not mask the uncertainty in the young warlock's eyes. It seemed as though Merlin thought that by sounding resolute he could convince himself that it was the right decision.

Gaius remembered Merlin when the boy had first come to Camelot, the young warlock had always been determined to believe the good in everyone and everything. That boy was never one to stand by and watch when he could do something to help. Now the physician could see that this bright outlook was being buried by the dark destiny the young man was forced to carry.

The physician sighed regretfully. If only there was a way for him to share the load, to save his boy from the hardships that seemingly always awaited him. Destiny had forced Merlin to sacrifice so much, and Gaius did not want to see his ward succumb to the darkness, did not want to watch the boy's pure heart harden to the world. The old man reached out and rested his hand on his ward's shoulder, gently halting the distracted pacing.

"If he is destined to take the king's life, then why has he just saved it?" Gaius asked softly, firmly holding Merlin's gaze. "Merlin, you know Arthur. You know what he would say to this even if he knew the boy's destiny. And, if you are honest with yourself, it's what you would say as well."

Merlin was silent for a long moment, then his shoulders slumped in defeat and all fight drained from him. He ran a hand roughly across his face.

"I know, Gaius," his voice was little more than a sigh, "I know."

The young warlock walked over to the bed where Mordred lay unconscious. The knight's face was alarmingly pale and his features were scrunched as though in pain.

"I can't just watch him die," Merlin said quietly. "I cannot sentence a man for a something that he has not yet done. I cannot condemn someone just because they have the power and potential to be evil, there is a dark side to every man's heart. And anyway…" he paused, then the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he murmured, "it's like Arthur said. Where would any of us be if no one had given us a chance?"

Gaius watched with pride as his ward began to move with a new determination. Long fingered hands moved with purpose as he worked to remove the bandages that covered the young knight's wound. Gaius stepped forward to help, gently lifting their patient's torso so that Merlin could remove the last of the bandages from underneath him. Then, pulling the three-legged stool next to the bed, Merlin set to work, his hands spread over the deep wound on the knight's chest and his voice deep and powerful as he began weaving ancient words into a spell.

•••

 _Mordred felt the warlock's panic mounting along with his own as the Disir spoke to Arthur, pronouncing the king's flaws, condemning him. He glanced behind him to see Merlin standing in the shadows of the rough cave wall, watching the three hooded figures with eyes sharp as steel, his lanky form tense. He brought his eyes back to the proceedings as Gwaine shouted at the Disir, only to be thrown backward. There was little time to think as Arthur rallied his knights with the call "On me!", and Mordred acted instinctively, throwing himself in front of his king just as the bolt was sent streaking toward the older man's heart._

Pain, only pain.

Its dark, curling, slimy tendrils wove themselves almost lovingly through his body, spreading an icy fire through his veins. He felt the flames enter his heart, dredging up every dark fear, every cruel thought, every doubt, and every hatred, drowning out everything else. He saw his father being cut down by city guards, he heard the screams of his people as knights of Camelot stormed their camp, he saw his mentor struck down by an arrow and watched in terror as he breathed his last breath, and, in the wake of these dark memories, he felt the old hatred for Uther and Arthur and their stance on magic bubbling up inside him. The agony of the smoky poison threatened to overwhelm him, he was suffocating in the never ending flow of hatred and fear, and he could think of nothing better than to sink into the infinite blackness that beckoned to him. But then…

 _Mordred_.

A whisper reached him, floating like a leaf through the currents of dark pain swirling around his consciousness.

Mordred. Yes, that was his name. And he knew that voice…was that Merlin?

Fine vines of gold began weaving through the dark coils, which gradually loosened their grip. As the shadows recoiled from its gleaming touch, the pain lessened, the darkness ebbed away. He sighed in relief as the golden warmth swirled around him. " _Sleep, Mordred."_ The gentle words were clearer and closer this time, and with new hope growing in his heart he opened his eyes to see a blurred shape looming over him. He blinked slowly, trying to clear his vision. Merlin's face came into focus, it looked worried, white and drawn.

"You saved me. Why?"

"Because Arthur is right," the warlock replied with a crooked smile, "The love that binds us is more important than the power we wield."

The corner of the knight's mouth quirked upwards as he recognized his own words, glad that he had at last gained the older boy's friendship.

 _Now sleep._ With the last silent order, the warm gold enveloped him again and he felt his eyes drift shut as he fell into slumber's waiting arms.

* * *

 _One month later_

"Are you serious? A troll?" Mordred's shoulders shook with laughter, "Our mighty King Uther, scourge of all things magic, married a troll?"

"It's true," said Merlin, his eyes dancing with mirth, "He was head over heels for her! That is until we managed to lift the love enchantment. You should have seen his face when he realized – "

"What are you two laughing about?" Arthur had come up behind them and was eyeing the two suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing really," said Merlin, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous grin, "I was just telling Mordred about your time as the step-son of a troll."

Mordred, who had heroically kept a straight face since Arthur had joined them could not help but let out a snort of amusement.

"That is not a laughing matter," Arthur said severely, though his eyes shone with reminiscent hilarity. He had personally made fun of his father at the time of the incident.

"What about your donkey ears then?" Merlin asked with a smirk, "I was going to tell you about that, Mordred, but if his Highness doesn't think it's a laughing matter, I'd better not."

"Donkey ears?" Mordred said a grin spreading across his face, "How did – "

"Merlin, I believe I told you that we would never speak of that again," Arthur hissed, his thankfully normal, human ears burning. But Arthur had never been more elated to be embarrassed by his servant.

Until a few weeks ago, Arthur had watched Merlin and Mordred's uneasy interactions with confusion and worry. Ever since the druid boy had come back into their lives, Merlin had treated him with suspicion, only speaking to the young man when absolutely necessary and otherwise giving him the cold shoulder. It troubled Arthur to see Merlin, who once risked everything to rescue the boy from Uther's wrath, reject him with such finality. Arthur was very fond of Mordred, but he could not deny that Merlin's hesitancy to accept the boy had made him hold back as well. Although he would never admit it, he trusted Merlin more than anyone, and he valued his opinion over all others.

Then, two fortnights ago, something had changed for the better. After Mordred was wounded by the Disir, Merlin had helped Gaius nurse the young man through a miraculous recovery. Since then, the two could be found laughing and joking together during training and conversing together in hallways while Merlin skived off work, as was happening now.

"Oh, right…" Merlin didn't bother to hide his grin.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Merlin, get back to work." He smirked at Merlin's predictable groan. "Come on, Mordred, I'm calling an extra training session today. We will be going out for a patrol tomorrow."

Mordred stood dutifully, "Yes, sire."

"See, Merlin?" Arthur addressed his servant as though he was a three-year-old, "Mordred here understands the importance of duty. You could do with taking a leaf out of his book. Most people would be honored to serve the king of Camelot."

"It's true, Merlin, you should really treat Arthur with more respect. He is a great leader and a just king," Mordred said, his face very serious. Arthur nodded, satisfied by the young knight's loyalty, but his expression turned quickly to betrayed disbelief when Mordred continued, "donkey ears and all."

Arthur spluttered as both his companions started laughing again. He reconsidered whether it was really a good thing that the two were now friends. He rounded on his servant.

"Merlin!"

"What? What did I do? That one was all Mordred," Merlin's eyes widened indignantly.

"You – you –" Arthur cast around for an accusation befitting to Merlin's crime, "you _broke_ him!"

Merlin raised his eyebrows, a snarky retort visible on the tip of his tongue, but, in fear of continuing this battle of wits when he was outnumbered two to one, Arthur cut across him.

"Just… go finish mucking out the stables, I was just in there and you did a pretty shoddy job of it. Oh, and make sure my armor is polished and our things prepared to set out tomorrow."

Merlin huffed sulkily, "Yeah, Mordred, he really is a fair king," he shot at the young knight, his words dripping with sarcasm, then to Arthur "You do realize that I spent all morning on that. And you're armor will be completely covered in mud by the time you're done with training? It was raining this morning! And I won't be able to get to it until after your dinner, seeing as Gaius needs me to run remedies to about seven different families in the lower town! And – "

The king grinned and put a hand on the man's shoulder and interrupting his objections, "Better get on with it then," and with that Arthur turned on his heel and led the way out onto the training grounds, looking rather proud of himself.

* * *

The patrol had so far been uneventful, unless you count a burping contest between Gwaine and Percival as an event. The lands on the outskirts of Camelot had been relatively peaceful for the past few months, so they were not surprised when they did not find any unwanted activity, magical or otherwise. It seemed that Arthur considered the patrol a small vacation for his knights. Merlin was more than happy to treat it as such. He relaxed in the saddle, letting the voices of his companions fade into the background. A light evening breeze wound through the trees, whispering in the leaves brushing through his horse's mane. He inhaled deeply, relishing the earthy-sweet smell of the loam and fallen leaves mingled with the fresh scent of flowers somewhere nearby. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the familiar thrum of warmth from the wilderness flow through him.

"Merlin, you do know that if you fall off your horse, we won't stop to help you." Arthur's voice interrupted his tranquil thoughts and he opened his eyes to glare at him.

"Arthur, you do know that your voice is quite abrasive." Merlin shot back, smirking and winking at Mordred who was riding next to him. The knight grinned, a twinkle of laughter in his eye, then quickly attempted to straighten his features as Arthur looked at him suspiciously.

They soon chose a small clearing to make camp. A stream ran nearby, flowing quickly with the recent rain. As Merlin made their meal, the knights unpacked their sleeping rolls and removed their swords. There were sounds of disgust as Sir Gwaine decided to remove his boots as well, and a rather alarming smell floated through the camp.

"Oi, Gwaine! I'm making your supper. Would you like it to taste like feet? Because unless you put your boots back on, that's what you're going to get," Merlin threatened, not even looking up from stirring the pot to see where the stench was coming from.

"But Merlin, my toes! They need to be free!" Gwaine proclaimed, ignoring the snorts of amusement from the other knights. Gwaine's appetite for rabbit stew apparently won out over his toes' need for liberation however, and he pulled his boots back on.

"Merlin, I do believe you have found the secret to commanding Gwaine," commented Arthur, grinning.

"What? Threaten his food supply? I should have thought that was obvious," Merlin replied, grinning at his king and passing him the first steaming bowl of stew.

The other knights crowded around Merlin holding out their bowls. When their turn came, Elyan and Percival knelt and bowed to Merlin with their hands stretched out in exaggerated worship of his cooking. Merlin laughed at their antics. As much as he complained to Arthur about long rides and damp weather, he always enjoyed being away from the city with the knights. The pomp and propriety of castle life that dictated the rigid separation of classes was lifted and they treated him as a friend rather than a mere servant.

After they had finished eating, Merlin took the pot and bowls to the stream to rinse. He was kneeling over the water when it happened: a solid wall of unbearable agony hit him, making him double over and gasp for breath. He clutched his head, fingers gripping his hair as pain tore through him again. It was not physical pain, it was in his mind and in his heart. He sensed the sharp sting of life being snuffed out. He felt the deep ache of grief at the loss something he had not realized he'd had and cherished. It felt as if a part of his soul was being ripped from him, leaving a chill emptiness where a warm presence had once dwelled; a constant companion that he only now noticed in its absence.

"Merlin?"

Merlin barely registered the questioning voice. He breathed deeply, trying to push away the nausea that was threatening to overcome him. His magic was rolling and pitching, rebelling in the wake of the agonizing experience.

He felt someone kneel beside him.

"Merlin!" Mordred repeated urgently, breaking through the haze of Merlin's bewildered thoughts. He felt his friend place a bracing hand on his shoulder. It was by that touch that he realized that he was shaking and tried to steady himself, gulping for air. When he finally raised his head, unbidden tears clung to his eyelashes.

"Merlin, what happened?" the young knight asked, the concern in his face evident "I-I don't know," Merlin replied shakily, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists, fighting another wave of nausea and frantically trying to work through his thoughts and emotions for an explanation. Something was wrong, terribly wrong, but he had no idea what.


End file.
